


Bloodied Feet and Saguaro Blossom

by Aylwyyn228



Series: There was something taking care of me and you [3]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Slice of Life, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: By the time they reached the cabin Dutch had spotted nearly three days before, on their ride into town, Hosea was pretty sure he was bleeding.Whatever else they were good for, these fine black cowhide boots were not made for a quick escape down the side of a goddamn canyon.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Series: There was something taking care of me and you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090346
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	Bloodied Feet and Saguaro Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> I cut my foot open the other day, and I was feeling a little depressed, and thus, this self-indulgent fluff was born!
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time they reached the cabin Dutch had spotted nearly three days before, on their ride into town, Hosea was pretty sure he was bleeding. 

Whatever else they were good for, these fine black cowhide boots were not made for a quick escape down the side of a goddamn canyon. 

They’d been running for a good eight hours, having lost their horses and most of what was in their saddlebags, and Hosea had nearly worn through his goddamn boots long before they ever set foot in Georgette. It’d been bearable while ever he was riding. The short walk into whatever saloon they’d decided to hit, or up to whatever rooms they’d been able to weasel, had been acceptable. 

They pinched and rubbed, but he’d trudged his way through far more discomfort in his time. 

And the boots had been fine once. 

Looted, of course, off a dead man who’d evidently seriously misjudged the Arizona climate, or in some other way been left friendless and thirsty in the desert. But the boots were fine black cowhide, well cut and treated. 

They fitted the dandy gentlemen the two of them had been posing as for their last few jobs.

Dutch, of course, could’ve played the Yankee Beau Brummell in a set of denims and buckskin, but Hosea’d’ve had a hell of a time pulling off the cons in his usual clothes. 

So the full grain cowhide boots were a necessary prop, however ill-fitting they’d turned out to be. 

They had not, however, survived their flight through the Santa Maria River, and Hosea was cursing them now. 

What had begun as burning on the back of his heels and the edge of his toes had morphed into something much sharper, and, recently,  _ slicker _ , and left him limping his way through the brush. 

The cabin was, mercifully, where Dutch had remembered it. Half hidden and abandoned in a sycamore glade. Its windows were boarded tight, and Dutch had to put his shoulder to the door to get them inside. 

It was a testament to their situation that Dutch did it with no ill will or whining. No words had passed between them in hours. They both needed all their breath for running. 

Once inside, Hosea quickly sank into a chair and let Dutch get on with barricading their little hideout. 

It wasn’t much. Two rooms. One with a low cot. The other with a small wood stove, a table in the centre of the room. But the windows were boarded tight, and it didn’t take much effort for Dutch to shove the table against the door. 

Hosea sat, watching as Dutch took a second, leaning against the worn oak to catch his breath, and tried not to think about the way his feet had started throbbing as soon as he’d taken the weight off them. 

Dutch finally turned around, running a hand through his hair. The combination of the sweat and his pomade was beginning to turn his black locks into an oil slick. The expression on his face was distinctly concerned. “You alright, old girl?” 

Hosea groaned. Now Dutch had started that nickname, he would never let it go. 

“I got all of ten years on you.” Hosea automatically started to toe off his boot, regretting it instantly as he felt the skin of his heel start to peel off with it. He decided to leave it alone for the moment. “I’m fine,” he added, as the look had not left Dutch’s face. 

Dutch held his gaze for the longest second, and Hosea knew that he’d been seen through. But Dutch apparently decided to let it go. He gave the cabin the same quick survey that Hosea had. 

“Good,” he said finally. “Because I don’t think we’re outta the woods yet.” He stepped further into the room. “I reckon we can wait ‘em out here though. S’long as we don’t light the stove. Even with the windows covered, the light’d show us up in the dark, and the smoke’d be an easy trail.” 

Hosea nodded. “S’a warm night, don’t need the heat. And we ain’t got anythin’ to cook.” 

Dutch gave a hum that sounded like agreement. “You got any water left in your pack?”

“Not much. That might be more of a problem.” 

Dutch busied himself searching the cabin for supplies, and Hosea didn’t do much of anything, to save his feet. 

“There’s nothing much here,” Dutch said as he returned from the other room, carrying a water pail that must’ve been filled up and left before whatever happened to the previous occupant  _ happened _ . 

Dutch gestured to it. “Whaddaya think?” 

Hosea peered over at the contents of the bucket, which was coated by what looked like a layer of grey slime. “Reckon it looks like how you get cholera.” 

Dutch hummed again. “Yeah, I figured that’s what you’d say.” 

He dropped the pail and headed over to one of the windows, peering out through the boards. “Be gettin’ dark soon. But we’re gonna need  _ water _ at least in all this goddamn heat. Think there was a lake ‘bout a mile north of here. Imma head out, fill up that goddamn bucket. Check what tracks we’ve left too.” 

“You think the lake water’ll be any better?” 

Dutch shook his head. “I’m not seein’ another option. I’ll see if I can find a pump somewhere, but other than that…”

Hosea nodded. It was a sound enough plan. “I’ll come, see if I can’t help you cover our tracks a little.”

Dutch shook his head again. “Leave it. Keep this place barricaded. If it goes bad I want somewhere I can run back to.” 

It was on the tip of Hosea’s tongue to disagree. He didn’t like the thought of Dutch goin’ off on his own into the dark, but he had to admit, it made sense. It wouldn’t do to get back and find their hideout overrun with bounty hunters.

Hosea could drag this chair over to the window, find a crack to look out of, check for any movement. Hopefully, they’d put enough dust behind them to lose their tail, but it wouldn’t do to get complacent. 

And frankly, Hosea had no desire to head out again in these goddamn boots.

“Don’t be long,” he said, since Dutch seemed to be waiting on his approval. But he couldn’t imagine Dutch was gonna get distracted smelling the fucking daisies. 

Dutch just grinned. “Don’t you fret about me, old girl. I know what I’m doin’.” 

Hosea couldn’t help but groan, because really, that was always a prelude to disaster. 

***

Hosea would like to say he kept good watch while Dutch was gone, and in truth, he’d tried. But there was no good vantage point inside the cabin, and after a good half hour of no movement at all in the trees, his mind began to wander. 

The heat inside the cabin was heavy, his muscles ached and his feet were fucking burning. 

He hadn’t wanted to take off the boots while he was waitin’ on Dutch, since he was sure it was goin’ to be a task, and he wanted to be sure they weren’t gonna be runnin’ again before he got a chance to see to it. 

All of that was to say that when Dutch knocked against the doorframe, with what sounded like his pistol, Hosea may have startled awake. 

The first knock woke him. The second had his hand on his gun. And the long pause before the third had him breathing hard. But then the third came, their signal all was fine, and Hosea forced himself to his feet. 

He dragged the table a couple of feet from the door and Dutch pushed it open. 

“Found us a pump after all,” Dutch said, grinning as he held up the now refilled bucket. He pushed the door closed behind him and edged out from the back of the table, letting Hosea shove it up tight again. “I went round and tried to clear up our tracks. I lost the light ‘fore I was done, but I reckon I got most of ‘em. Even managed to leave a bit of a false trail, headin’ down into the river valley to the north. Hopefully, they’ll think they lost us in the river, waste some time tomorrow mornin’ trying to pick us up on the far bank.” 

Hosea halted in the middle of hobbling back over to his chair. He searched Dutch’s face, the naked, open pride in it. Christ, it wasn’t long ago that Dutch had been fresh out on his own, more used to scammin’ folks in saloons and city bars than fleein’ from the law out in the wild. 

Hosea had thought, though to say it would’ve been to get into a row, that maybe Dutch’s love for all things fine might win out in the end, and leave him pursuing money and excitement in the city, for all his fine words about freedom in the west. Hosea had always thought that Dutch would make a hell of a solicitor, if he set his mind to it, and he had enough of a lax attitude to legality to make a goddamn fortune out of it. 

But looking at him now, drenched in sweat, Arizona dust smeared across his cheek, Hosea finally understood. The sheer life on Dutch’s face now, having come off worse, and  _ survived _ it? 

That excitement caught Dutch like nothing else. The absolute edge of disaster was exactly where Dutch wanted to be. 

And Hosea  _ understood _ . 

Because that  _ feeling _ , of knowin’ that you were an inch away from bein’ found out, and then carryin’ the con off anyway? That feeling was like nothing else. 

And Hosea wouldn’t have given it up for  _ anything _ . 

Not for a whole fortune in bandit gold. It wasn’t about the money… It was never about the money. 

He realised abruptly, from the look, that Dutch was waitin’ on his approval, though he was certain Dutch would never, ever admit to it. 

“That was… That was good thinkin’. I reckon we’ll be able to lose ‘em if we head out south as soon as the sun comes up.” 

Dutch puffed up like a goddamn peacock at the praise, and Hosea couldn’t help but smile. 

And then instantly wince, as he took another step. 

“You alright?” Dutch said again, as if the answer weren’t goddamn obvious. 

Hosea grimaced. “Think it might be time to call it quits with these boots.” 

“Yeah, they didn’t do the last fella no good neither. Don’t sit down,” Dutch added, just as Hosea was about to take his seat. “Let’s bed down in the back. We got nothin’ to cook, so we might as well get what sleep we can.” 

Hosea obediently changed direction. “You don’t wanna have one of us on watch?” 

He heard the floorboards creak as Dutch followed him. “Can’t see much point, given we can’t see out. And I don’t much fancy sitting up when there’s a bed right there. ‘Less they’re fucking demons then whoever’s tailing us is gonna have to stop soon. We been runnin’ all day, and they won’t be able to track in the dark.” 

Hosea nodded, though he doubted Dutch could see. 

As soon as he reached it, he lowered himself down onto the cot, groaning, because good Christ, these boots! 

“Hold on,” he heard Dutch say. “You reckon it’s safe to have a lamp?” 

Hosea glanced around the room. It was small, window boarded up tight. It shouldn’t let much light escape, but even a single ray would light them up in the wilderness. 

“Drape one of those blankets over the window, doubled over. And shove something against the bottom of the door. If they still make us out then, they deserve to catch us.”

Dutch did as he was told, before fiddling with an old oil lamp he’d apparently found on his search of the cabin. 

Hosea turned his attention to his feet, and exactly how to get his goddamn boots off without doing any more damage. He took a breath and gingerly grabbed hold of his left heel. 

“Let me,” Dutch said, coming to crouch in front of him. 

“I told you already, I’m fine. Nothin’ to get all worked up about.” 

Dutch was smiling, that way he had of making everything seem like a goddamn private joke. “I know. You’re a tough son of a bitch. But let me.” He pressed a hand against Hosea’s knee. “I messed up back there, with that bank clerk.”

Dutch said that like there was more to the sentence, but when he trailed off, he didn’t seem to intend on finishing it. Not that Hosea was surprised. Dutch could argue gospel with the apostles themselves, and never once let on that he might be wrong. 

Hosea had never met a man so averse to an apology, which made the two of them a hell of a pair. 

So if Dutch was inclined to be sweet on account of some misplaced guilt, Hosea wasn’t too inclined to stop him. 

Particularly given Dutch didn’t seem too melancholy over it all. 

Hosea shifted to let Dutch take over the task. 

“We both got run outta there,” Hosea said quietly. “We read the room wrong, somewhere along the line. It happens.” 

“Pushed it too hard.” Dutch unlaced Hosea’s boot. “ _ You  _ saw it. We both know  _ you _ coulda talked your way outta it.” 

Hosea laughed a little, and then groaned as the boot slid off, taking with it his sock, and what he guessed was a slough of skin. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, pitched his tone as ironically as he could manage. “And miss our tour of the Colorado River canyon?” 

Dutch inclined his head. “I take it you want to beat a swift retreat back north?” 

“Oh Lord, take me back to Wyoming. That I may never see a cactus again.” 

Dutch snorted and then looked him straight in the face, thumb rubbing gently over the top of his foot. “I’ll get you there.” 

He sounded absolutely sure of himself, and Hosea couldn’t help the little spark of warmth that ignited in his gut. Because Hosea  _ believed _ him. 

“Didn’t lose this one, Dutch. Losin’ is a noose, or a bullet, this was… This was dealer’s round, but we didn’t bust out.” 

The smile flickered back onto Dutch’s face, just for a second. 

“Your metaphor is wearin’ a little thin.” Dutch looked back down and frowned, sucked in a breath of his own as he turned his attention back to the task in hand. “Lord, that looks bad.” 

“Well, it don’t feel too pretty neither.” 

“You’re bleedin’.” 

“What?” Hosea snapped, and snatched his foot back up to rest against his knee. Sure enough, the skin on the back of his heel had rubbed clean off, with not even a blister to show for it. The skin underneath was raw, welling up pink with blood and pus. “Shit.” 

Dutch hummed again, in commiseration this time. “Let me get the other off, and then I’ll clean you up.” 

“I got it.” 

“Let me,” Dutch said again. 

“I told you, I don’t need your help,” Hosea snapped. 

Dutch didn’t take the bait to start arguing, just slowly slipped his other boot off. 

Hosea huffed a little, but let him get on with it. 

“This one isn’t as bad.”

“I know,” Hosea said, shortly. 

Again, Dutch didn’t answer, just dragged another one of the blankets over and used the edge of his pocket knife to start tearing it into strips. Hosea could only just see the side of his face in the lamp light, but he was definitely smiling. 

“What’s so funny?” 

Dutch just shook his head, but when he turned back to face Hosea it was clear that Hosea had read him right. 

“What?” 

Dutch just wet a piece of the cloth and brought Hosea’s left ankle up onto his knee, so he could clean it. “You’re always the same when you’re hurtin’. I can always tell. No matter what you say. You got a hell of a mouth on you when you want to, and that look you get on your face? The devil himself’d turn on his heel and hightail it back into hell.” 

Hosea huffed again, but he couldn’t find the will to get much heat into it. “Thought I was a good actor.” 

“Best I ever met.” Dutch was still smiling. “But you ain’t tryin’ to lie to me.” 

“You’re a… Shit! Be careful!” Hosea flinched as the rough cloth caught something sore. He sucked in a breath. “You’re an arrogant son of a bitch.” 

Dutch laughed. “I reckon you’d still sit up if you had a bullet hole in your forehead, and berate me over somethin’.” 

“Well, I am sorry I’m such tiresome company.” 

“Oh the worst,” Dutch said, easily. 

Hosea shrugged, because he thought he might swear at the stinging in his foot. 

“Shoulda left me for the bountymen,” he said, when Dutch had finished up, and taken up some dry cloth to stop the dirt getting back into the injury. 

“But what’d I do without you, old girl?” Dutch was grinning, hair fallin’ forward over his face. It gave him the look of some rakish hero. 

“I told you, I’m barely ten years older than you.” 

“And you carry them so well.” 

And damnnit but that grin was infectious, and even with the stinging in his foot, Hosea couldn’t quite keep up the vitriol. “You gotta smooth mouth on you, van der Linde.” 

Without missing a beat, and without breaking his gaze, Dutch lifted up his foot and placed a kiss against the arch. And another, just above the bandage on his ankle. 

Hosea couldn’t fight the flutter that churned in his gut, awakening a flicker of interest that even his current exhaustion couldn’t quite snuff out. He laughed. “I think that might be a little optimistic, after today.” 

Dutch leaned forward and kissed him again, on the inside of his knee through the fabric of his pants. “I’m nothing if not an optimist.” 

But he did let up. Took the refusal for what it was. 

He stood up, and joined Hosea on the cot, dragging the lamp and the pail of water within reaching distance. He stuffed a heap of the blankets he’d found behind his back, and leaned back against the wall, gestured for Hosea to lay against him. 

The cot was small, too small for two grown men to share, but they were used to sleeping close. Dutch’s chest was hot against his back, a furnace in the already unbearable heat, but Hosea couldn’t find much will to care. Not when he felt the heat of Dutch’s breath against his cheek. Dutch’s big hands splayed across his stomach. Their legs tangled together. 

He felt Dutch press a kiss to the side of his jaw, and lifted his hand awkwardly to curl into the side of Dutch’s hair. 

“I meant it,” Dutch said softly, “what would I do without you?” 

Hosea smiled. “Somethin’ stupid, probably.”

He heard Dutch laugh, low and warm, directly into his ear. “Yeah,” he said, “probably.” 


End file.
